


Missing Hours

by hopeless_hapless



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hapless/pseuds/hopeless_hapless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Inspired by tumblr post asking what happened in those unaccounted hours after Dean picked Castiel up from babysitting. Really, I don't know what happened, have a drabble?] "It has been years since Dean has smoked a cigarette but as he puts the filter to his lips, the flint sparking behind the wheel of the zippo, he wonders why he ever put them down. It’s calming and familiar and he relaxes against the cold plastic of the chair. The back of his head presses against the room’s window, two cars having a verbal dispute in the background and for a moment he remembers that not all silence is deafening. Everything is not set in stone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Hours

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, like I said I don't know what happened, I just started writing because of a tumblr post by mishasminions. I blame you, tumblr.  
> I do not own any of the Supernatural characters or plots and I do not profit from this work of fiction, blah blah, have fun. =]  
> Excerpt from original tumblr post that inspired this [images excluded] by mishasminions:   
> "SO WE CAN ASSUME THAT THEY SPENT MORE OR LESS 3 HOURS IN THE HOSPITAL  
> WHICH LEAVES 4 HOURS  
> AND DEAN ALWAYS NEEDS HIS “FOUR HOURS”  
> SO DEAN AND CAS MUST’VE "SLEPT" TOGETHER FOR FOUR HOURS  
> MYSTERY SOLVED. CASE CLOSED."

“Stay still.” The tape slips in his hands and he’s reminded of the time he had to wrap up Sam’s leg so the kid could go swimming. Not that he had been afforded the same luxury, ‘I said watch your brother!’

Castiel sighs into his palm that is supporting his chin on the worn table, “I am sorry,” But he’s had roughly two pots of coffee today and he can’t sit still, “It has been a long night.” He says, offering an excuse.

Dean unrolls the last piece of tape, securing it at the bottom of the three layers he has already put at the bottom of the plastic bags, and he nods. “Don’t mention it.” Running a finger over the waxy surface of the tape he leans back in his chair, taking up his previously abandoned beer, “Go ahead,” Dean nods towards the bathroom, “I’ll wait.”

He seems more grateful than he ever has before, eyes widening slightly as the words sink in. “Thank you, Dean.” Cas raises slowly from the chair and Dean can tell that he is not used to being sore. “As always you have been much more of a help to me than I-”

Dean holds a hand up, cutting him off, “No chick flick moments, Cas, just get in the shower.” He watches the ex angel disappear behind the door and he finishes the rest of his beer in three, large, consecutive swallows. It clinks lightly against the table as he puts it down and for whatever reason he finds himself transfixed by brown glass, lost for a moment.

Lost on Sammy, lost on the way things should have been and even, for a brief moment he thinks about Lisa and Ben. Wrenching his eyes shut against the sting he rubs a hand across his face, a distant, imaginary screaming swallowing the silence whole. It’s in moments like these when he can feel them the most. The racks. Even now he can almost feel a sharp yell bubbling up, ‘Sam!’

The pipes in the bathroom rattle and he looks away from the beer, standing quickly, almost knocking his chair over. He paces, in the short circle of the entryway, because it’s late and there is nowhere to run to. Lips move almost silently, humming the opening lines of Mettalica’s Fade To Black because now, of all times, he does not want to have an anxiety attack.

Sam doesn’t know -how could he really?- and neither does Kevin, but he’s been having them for a few months now. Well, it’s been much, much longer than that if he is being completely honest. But, nine times out of ten he isn’t, so he tells himself it’s only been a recent thing. He bites the inside of his finger and has to get out of the room before the silence is deafening.

The air is crisp and few cars pass by at two thirty in the morning so for the most part he is alone. Dean eyes the Adirondack chair for a minute before falling into it, hands going to the inside pocket of his jacket. He didn’t know why he had paid for them, maybe just to humor Cas, maybe just to try and coax a smile, but he has them and before he knows it he’s opening them.

It has been years since Dean has smoked a cigarette but as he puts the filter to his lips, the flint sparking behind the wheel of the zippo, he wonders why he ever put them down. It’s calming and familiar and he relaxes against the cold plastic of the chair. The back of his head presses against the room’s window, two cars having a verbal dispute in the background and for a moment he remembers that not all silence is deafening. Everything is not set in stone.

He is almost done with the cigarette when Castiel wanders outside in a towel, dripping into the night, “Dean?”

“Yeah Cas, I’m right here.” He sits up before he looks at him, a brow raising slightly as he realizes the others half nudity. “Aren’t you, uh-” Dean pulls at the collar of his jacket, at a loss for words.

“Yes, I am freezing actually.” He pauses a beat, perhaps wondering at the honking horns in the distance, “It is why I came outside, um,” Gaze falls to his feet as he speaks, ashamed to admit to needing anything, “my clothing is more than questionably clean, I have been spot cleaning, but-” He cuts himself off, too tired to add more information than necessary, “The laundromat is expensive.”

Dean chuckles a bit too hard at Castiel’s way of putting things, realizing maybe he had just needed a good laugh to feel better, hoping that he was correct. “Come on.” He claps a hand on Cas’ back as he stands, stomping the cigarette out under his boots. “I uh-” He sighs, as if he is ashamed of something and swings the door shut behind them. “Look, don’t tell Sam I did this, I’ll never hear the fucking end of it.”

“Okay.” He looks confused but he is nodding in agreement.

“He’s got some clothes that don’t fit him anymore, haven’t for years. Normally,” He moves to his bed, opening his duffle, “they would have bit the big old dusto, but-” He stares down at the clothes in question, remembering the first trip he had taken Sam on nine years ago, “Here.” He hands them over, almost reluctant to give them up, but Sam has put on a lot of muscle since the Wendigo in Blackwater Ridge and especially the White Lady in Palo Alto. He knows they will be put to good use.

Castiel seems to understand without asking that Dean has an attachment to these simple scraps of clothing and, Dean supposes, that Castiel knows all too well the feeling. “Thank you.” He presses them against his chest and moves back into the bathroom -apparently aware of propriety now.

It only takes ten minutes for Cas to emerge from the bathroom and when he does the faint smell of toothpaste follows him. “If you, uh-” A wide smirk cuts him off and he has to bite his top lip to keep from laughing, “Want to watch T.V.-well, you know.”

It takes less than a second for Dean to retreat into the bathroom, even less to start the water back up. It helps to drown out the echoes of the pit and fragments of John. Dad. The word causes a bitter stab within and quickly he disappears behind the curtain, flinging his socks out as an after thought. 'Soap,’ He thinks, ‘soap is nice…' Anything to keep himself occupied. Even after all these years he just can't shake it. It is always there. Forever looming and Alastair is breathing down his neck, 'That’s not a filet, boy,' His voice croons, 'What did we say yesterday about disobedience, Dean?' A knife that isn't real slides down the length of his spine and, no matter how hot the water is in the shower, Dean shivers against it.

As the water is draining from the tub, the taps dripping their last into the basin, he has to screw his eyes shut, palms flying to rub against them. He knows, rationally, that nothing but water was traveling down that drain. That slime and entrails and blood hadn’t slipped out of the shower head at some point.

When he refocuses he wipes himself down quickly, keeping his eyes averted from the mirror. It likes to play tricks, he remembers. When he least expects it, usually. He puts on a pair of sweat pants quickly, steam from the shower following him out into the room.

Moving to the door he locks it, flicking the switch and plunging the room into semi darkness. Dean moves to the window, pulling the curtain open slightly, “Cas, uh, I hope you don’t mind I-” The column of light hits the bed opposite him and he is silent in an instant -all of those years of not waking Sammy coming into play.

The ex angel is asleep, on top of his blankets, wearing Christmas moose underwear. The clothes Dean gave him are clutched against his chest and he is on his side, drooling slightly into the pillow.

Dean shakes his head, a silent laugh erupting across his face. Running a hand across the back of his neck he pulls a chair from the table around to the foot of Cas’ bed -he tells himself it’s because he won’t be able to see him over the bar style divider. Quietly he gets comfortable in the chair, leaning it back until it rests against the wall. “I’ll watch over you, Cas.” His voice is quiet, a whisper against the stillness of the room and he waits. He waits for sunrise and visions and beer. But mostly, he waits for Castiel.


End file.
